Unwritten, unrecorded are the times,
a long day gone, they sat around the fire
and Jesus, deeply silent, watched the flames
that wavered weakly in the onyx night.
Perhaps there’d been a miracle that day;
a parable that shook a heart of stone,
perhaps something as simple as a fig,
a dab of yeast or missing silver coin.
But as the light fell soft across His face
and somewhere off a creature made a sound,
they all (among themselves, the next day) marked
His eyes transfigured diamond-like with tears.
